


Bleeding Through the Edges

by MajorTrouble



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, M/M, Monsters, or are they??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27572962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble
Summary: Jaskier was having a perfectly lovely afternoon. Afternoons? He's not sure. He may have been here before. But the sun is warm, and scenery is lovely, and everything feels real.But the howling, shrieking wail signals that something is terribly wrong. And if he just turned around to face it...----“Jaskier!” it was a woman’s voice this time. This time? And he could see a head of white hair nearly glowing where it rose above the barley. “Don’t look, Jaskier! Please! You have to run! You have to run!”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 102
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #010





	Bleeding Through the Edges

**Author's Note:**

> This... didn't go where I thought it would, but I loved writing every bit of it.

_This is a nice dream,_ Jaskier thought, swinging his feet back and forth where they hung down off the fence. The sun was a pleasant warmth beating down on the top of his head and relaxing the tension in his shoulders. He leaned over just enough to pluck a long stem off the wild barley that was swaying in the lazy breeze. He shoved the end between his teeth, chewing on it and tasting the sweet malt flavour. _Yeah, a really nice dream. I wonder where I am._

Just as that thought manifested itself, a shadow passed over the sun. A sudden chill swept through the air and a keening wail rose up from somewhere behind him. Still, he didn’t feel panicked or upset. This was a dream. Nothing could hurt him in dreams. 

“Jaskier! Jask - Fuck! Run!” 

Right? 

“Get off the fence you damnable bard and _run!_ ”

Geralt’s voice finally spurred him into action. Another high pitched wail filled the air, rising to a pitch that seemed to vibrate the very air around him. He flung himself forward off the fence, feet getting tangled in the rails, causing him to land heavily on the ground. He barely managed to catch himself on his hands, keeping his face from colliding with the dirt. 

Geralt was yelling again, sounding frantic and angry. Jaskier tried to scramble to his feet but a heavy weight settled suddenly on his back, pushing him down into the ground. It pinned him down, and suddenly _there_ was the missing sense of panic and fear and he was sobbing with it now as he scrabbled uselessly in the dirt. Claws dug into his sides and he screamed as they punctured his skin. The agonized wailing sounded again from above him and then something was digging into the back of his neck, blinding pain shooting down his spine and pushing up behind his eyes and he suddenly couldn’t feel his limbs anymore. 

Distantly he could still hear Geralt yelling, and his own mouth was open in a silent scream but his vision quickly tunnelled down to nothing and greyness filled the void before consciousness finally left him. 

*

_Where was I?_

*

The sun beat down on Jaskier as he strolled along the fence line, idly whistling some tune that was stuck in his head. It was just a few bars, repeating themselves over and over and he was sure he’d heard them somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite remember where. 

He paused in his rambling to lean on the split-rail fence and gaze out over the edge of the property. The river valley below was a sprawling vista of green, rolling hills and clumps of sheep herds. His lips twisted into a smile as he watched the distant figures of shepherds whistling commands to their obedient black and white dogs, the animals sprinting back and forth to drive the unruly herds where they willed. 

It felt like something out of a painting, if he was being honest. The Lettenhove estate wasn’t large, by any means, but he’d done his best since his father’s passing to make sure that it prospered.

“My lord!” came a voice from behind him. “My lord Julian! You are wanted at the manor house. There are visitors!” 

Jaskier - no that wasn’t right - _Julian_ turned to smile at the page who’d come to collect him. “All right, Eskel, I’m on my way.” The boy, no older than ten with a mop of dark hair and bright brown eyes smiled at him and nodded. He turned to dart off back the way he came and Julian frowned as he caught a glimpse of deep scars running up the right side of the boy’s face. 

No - that wasn’t right either.

Julian shook his head and started along the well-worn path towards his home. He was brought up short by a loud, shrill wailing rising from the air behind him. Just as he was about to turn back towards the fence, to find out what creature could make such a sound, someone was yelling at him. 

Their voice was vaguely familiar. 

“Don’t turn around! Run! Go!” This was followed by an incoherent scream of anger and the unmistakable sound of sword hitting flesh. “ _JASKIER RUN!_ ”

Julian did as he was told, picking up his feet and running for all he was worth back to the safety of his home. The sun disappeared from around him, wind picking up and whipping the stalks of the long grasses against his shins as he ran. Roiling clouds blotted out the sky making it harder for him to see his way up the path. He stumbled across the uneven ground and flinched as the wailing rose up from behind him again. 

Something heavy slammed into him from behind, dropping him to the ground, forcing the air from his lungs and ripping through his doublet and breeches, shredding the skin beneath. He couldn’t draw breath to scream as pain like he’d never felt drove itself deep into his bones. Warmth was running down his sides and pooling underneath him and he realized in a moment of horrified clarity that it was his own blood. He thrashed weakly before greyness filled his vision and he fell into the void. 

*

_Where was I? Where am I?_

_You’re stuck._

_This isn’t working._

_*_

Jaskier stood on top of the fence post, hands on hips and watching as the last rays of the setting sun began to sink beneath the horizon. He loved these days. The mid-summer air would stay warm well into the evening, and the smell of sweet grasses from the field behind him would rise as they cooled. He’d come here especially for the lightning bugs that only ever appeared for a few weeks of the year in this valley; he’d wanted to see them for himself so he could write a song about them. Maybe get that damnable tune out of his head and onto paper. That it flitted through his mnd and never seemed to latch onto anything seemed appropriate to the way the flashing bugs skittered through the air. 

As the sky darkened and the stars began to show themselves, their counterparts on earth began slowly winking in and out of existence. Jaskier was mesmerized. The tiny bugs were like an intricate patchwork of light, moving in the breeze, telling a story only they knew. 

He wished he had someone to share this with. But he was alone, always alone. Love, he’d learned, was fleeting, and no one had captured his interest long enough to stay. Not in all his long life.

That made him frown. Because hadn’t there been someone? A memory tugged at the edge of his consciousness, but he shook it away. No. He’d always been alone. 

He hopped down from the fence and strode out across the field of barley, chest-high stalks rippling in the evening breeze and hands clasped behind his back as he marvelled at the beauty before him. The tune was playing in his head again, louder this time, and he could almost hear the words starting to form.

A howling wail sounded from behind him and he froze, heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he should do and was momentarily overcome by panic before the shrieking cry came again and he stumbled into a run in the opposite direction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure break from the cover of the barley stalks and run back towards whatever creature had made the horrible sound. It held a sword in one hand that flashed brightly as all the lightning bugs lit up at once in a dazzling display before seeming to disappear all together. Clouds began forming on the horizon, roiling across the sky and covering the stars.

Jaskier skidded to a halt in shock and spun around, intent on the figure of a man with white hair as he raced back across the field. The wind had started to whip up and Jaskier could just barely hear the man yelling. He couldn’t make out the words, but he seemed angry, almost fearful. 

And what he was running towards, it must be a creature of some kind, because the man must be a Witcher. Although he didn’t know where that word came from or why he knew it. He continued to track the man’s progress across the field, but startled again as the agonized shriek of the creature grated across his eardrums. He turned to find it, trying to pinpoint it in the growing dark, but whipped his head around as someone called him from the opposite direction.

“Jaskier!” it was a woman’s voice this time. _This time?_ And he could see a head of white hair nearly glowing where it rose above the barley. “Don’t look, Jaskier! Please! You have to run! _You have to run!_ ” 

A compulsion overcame him and his legs started moving without the rest of him making the conscious effort to do so. He ran towards the voice calling, begging him to run, to not look back, and the sense of familiarity and inevitability almost resigned him to the sudden feeling of being hit from behind and thrown to the ground. He barely tried to move this time, somehow knowing what was coming as claws pierced his flesh and blood welled from his body. He felt the snap of his spine and the near-relief of the grey void coming to meet him was mercifully quick.

*

_Where… What is happening to me?_

_You’re stuck. You must be stuck in something. In your mind? Where am I going?_

_Back to the beginning._

_This isn’t working._

_I know. Think. Think!_

_Where am I going?_

*

 _This is a nice dream,_ Jaskier thought, swinging his feet back and forth where they hung down off the fence. It was just past mid-summer. He could hear the bees lazily making their way through the wildflowers below him. The river valley below was a sprawling vista of green, rolling hills and clumps of sheep herds. There was a tune stuck in his head that he whistled idly, half-formed lyrics floating up from the back of his conscience. He’d come here especially for the lightning bugs that only ever appeared for a few weeks of the year in this valley; he’d wanted to see them for himself so he could write a song about them. _Yeah, a really nice dream._

“No,” he said out loud, softly at first, then with more conviction. “No. This isn’t a dream. There’s something here. It’s - what is it? Is it stalking me? What does it want?” 

He jumped down from the fence and started running as fast as he could across the field. The hollow, ear-splitting shriek he expected from behind him came just as he reached the first of the trees near the river. Dodging branches and roots, he ran straight into the water, getting up to his knees in the cold swirling currents before he finally turned around. 

On the shore stood Geralt, Ciri, Eskel, and Lambert. They stood with their backs to him, weapons drawn, tensed and waiting. He nearly held his breath in anticipation. What was this creature? That it would take three Witchers and the Lady of Time and Space to defeat. 

And what could it want with Jaskier?

He flinched as whatever it was wailed again, sounding like it was in anguish. Had he caused it pain? Perhaps if he went to it, soothed it, it might release him from whatever this was. 

“Jaskier, no,” Ciri said without turning. “It’s held you here long enough. It’s trying to trick you now. It’s feeding off your memories, off your love and life. Don’t let it win. We’ve fought so hard. _Please_ , Jaskier.” 

Startled, he took a step back, swallowing thickly. He still didn’t understand what was happening, but he nodded, and then realizing that wasn’t enough he replied, “All right. What should I do?”

Before anyone could reply, the creature appeared at the edge of the river. It was beautiful. Like a song made flesh: dark and light with notes that tugged at the heart and the mind, it made Jaskier want to laugh and weep at once. Vaguely humanoid, with a face that flickered between a thousand shapes, each unique and otherworldly. Instead of hair it had a shimmering veil of iridescent light. It was indescribable.

It reached out to him and it took all his will not to step forward. This seemed to anger it and it shrieked again. This close it was so much worse than before, the ripples of sound nearly shaking his eyes in their sockets. Jaskier clapped his hands over his ears just as the quartet of warriors started their attack. 

The sky darkened above them, the clouds blowing in with a sudden ferocity to block out the sun. 

Their weapons did little damage to it, glancing off whatever covering it had with a sound like flicking a crystal goblet. In return, it raked at them with claws that seemed carved out of obsidian. Jaskier suddenly remembered with absolute clarity what they felt like wrending into his flesh. 

Eskel dove out of the way of a particularly vicious sweep and moved his fingers in a precise design. Purple light flared up around the creature and it howled again. It didn’t seem to be able to move outside of the trap of Yrden. Its face changed, melting and morphing into an elongated snout with rows of wickedly sharp teeth that it snapped at them. It seemed to draw darkness into itself so that its covering became such a deep, impenetrable black that no light escaped it. Lambert and Geralt kept up their assault, twisting and whirling as they hacked at the creature, turned aside again and again by its claws and teeth. Eskel concentrated on keeping the trap of Yrden closed around it, the purple light flaring bright at intervals as he poured his innate magic into it. 

Jaskier watched all this from the river, trying to ascertain whether or not they were getting closer to defeating the beast when Ciri suddenly appeared beside him. 

“I really hate when you do that.” He tried for levity and was rewarded with a ghost of a smile. She turned her attention back to the creature before leaning over to whisper in his ear. 

“You’re dreaming, Jaskier. Wake up.” 

He looked at her, startled. “I - really?” When she nodded, he started to feel the edges of his vision cloud. “Oh. I guess. I suppose I should. Stop.”

The creature seemed to finally notice what was going on as it redoubled its efforts to break free from the Witchers, but the world around them had started to collapse and Jaskier closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. 

Instead of grey, he fell down into only black.

*

Jaskier awoke slowly. It felt like moving through treacle: slow and sticky whilst leaving a distinct taste in one’s mouth. Once he could force his eyes open, he looked around to find himself in a familiar room. His lute was resting on a chair in the corner, his boots tucked neatly underneath. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in some of the bright sunlight whilst still keeping the room in pleasant shadow. He moved to sit up, his limbs feeling unnaturally stiff and heavy, and picked up the thoughtfully placed glass of water from the table beside him, drinking it in one long gulp. 

Just as he was beginning to think he might have the energy to get out of the incredibly comfortable bed - Yennefer’s cottage always had the most splendid amenities - the door opened and Geralt stepped into the room. They stared at each other for a moment before Geralt dropped his gaze and moved further into the room, closing the door behind him. He came and sat on the edge of the bed, regarding Jaskier before gathering him into his arms and holding him tightly. 

“I’m all right. You can see that, now. Nothing - nothing happened,” Jaskier told him, smiling weakly when Geralt let him go. 

The Witcher shook his head. “You’ve been asleep for months.” 

Jaskier stared at him in shock. Months? How could that be possible? He should be dead if that was the case. 

As if reading his mind, Geralt continued. “I brought you to Yennefer and Ciri as soon as I found you. As soon as I knew I couldn’t - “ he swallowed thickly “ - couldn’t fix it.” He stared down at his hands, rubbing them slowly back and forth on the tops of his thighs. “We weren’t sure what was happening, at first. Yennefer managed to put you in a kind of stasis until we could identify what it was. Ancient, evil magics. A corrupted spirit that invades the host like a parasite.” He paused again. “And then, trying to fight it, seeing you _die_ over and over - “ He broke off again, face closed off and staring at the floor. 

Jaskier leaned forward, pulling the bigger man into his arms. They stayed like that for several long moments before Jaskier quipped, “Well, I can’t say it was a picnic from my side either. I had no idea what was going on. And every time the, uh, dream started, I remembered a little less.” 

Geralt pulled back from him to look him in the eye. “It wasn’t like anything I’ve seen before. It fed on your memories. On your love. On everything you hold in your heart.” He looked away before suddenly pinning Jaskier with his gaze. “You are so _strong_ , Jaskier. Your heart holds so much. I don’t - “ he faltered, leaning away and sighing. 

He stared at Geralt for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest and pursing his lips. “What aren’t you telling me, Geralt?”

Geralt looked back up, startled. “What? I - “

“Nope! No. You only get introspective and poetic when you have something either incredibly self-deprecating or obnoxiously irritating to say. So, which is it?”

“You love me,” he blurted out. 

Jaskier blinked at him. That wasn’t what he’d expected. Well, in for an Oren, as they say. “Yes.”

“You’ve loved me for a long time.”

“Also yes,” Jaskier answered cautiously. Where was Geralt going with this?

He sighed. “Not like you love Ciri and Eskel and Lambert. Not like you love Yennefer.”

Jaskier scoffed. “I don’t _love_ Yennefer. We barely tolerate each other. In fact - “

“No, you do. You have so much love in your heart. I saw it, when I was fighting the spirit. That’s how it kept you for so long. How do you do that? How do you love so freely - so much - without - without - “

Jaskier took pity on him. “Without waiting for the other party to reciprocate?” When Geralt nodded, it was his turn to sigh. “Because without love, life is just a series of tasks. Of moving from one place to another, taking what comes to you and discarding the rest. But the capacity to love is what makes us human. It makes everything worth it, in the end.” He shrugged and sat back against the headboard of the bed. “Whether or not the other party wants or cares to love me back is not for me to say. I’m not going to force someone to love me.” 

If Geralt weren’t a Witcher, he wouldn’t have heard the quaver in Jaskier’s voice. It must have made up his mind for him. 

“I do. Love you. As well,” he managed, stilted, but genuine.

Jaskier looked up at him, wide eyed and hopeful. “You do?”

Geralt nodded, and then suddenly found himself being hugged again, his cheeks kissed in rapid succession, and hearing the joyful sound of Jaskier’s laughter. “May I - “ he hesitated, but continued when Jaskier’s radiant smile broke across his face. “May I kiss you?”

Jaskier laughed again before cupping his hands around his face and drawing their lips together. It was sweet; a press of lips before a cheeky swipe of Jaskier’s tongue across the seam of his lips before he pulled back, grinning madly. 

“Well! Another song I’ll have to write, I suppose. Oh don’t groan at me. Though there is this little snippet of music that’s stuck in my head - “ he paused to hum it before frowning and smacking himself in the forehead, narrowly missing Geralt in the process. “Oh fuck, now I know why it sounds familiar. It’s the lullaby I was working on before all this happened, I suppose. It kept playing over and over in my dreams... “ He trailed off. “How odd, that that’s the thing I would remember.”

“Are there words?” Geralt asked curiously.

“Hmm, yes. I haven’t quite figured them all out yet, but the chorus was finished.” And he sang it for Geralt, and it suddenly made sense why it would haunt his dream.

_The monsters can’t find you in your dreams_

_That’s where you can be anything_

_And in dreams nothing’s as it seems_

_For the monsters aren’t the only scary things._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you so much for reading!!


End file.
